Horsing Around
by snooky-9093
Summary: Hogan is forced to use an alternate means of transportation to avoid capture.


_I'd like to thank Missy the Least for putting this plot bunny in my head._

_Horsing Around_

Hogan looked at Crittendon as if the British officer had suddenly sprouted a second head. "You want me to ride a horse? Are you nuts? When you said you found us transportation, I thought you meant a couple of motorcycles!"

"My dear, boy. Every good British officer knows how to ride these noble creatures." Crittendon raised his eyebrow, chuckled, and stated the obvious."You don't know how to ride. Don't worry, Hogan. It's as easy as falling off a log. And besides, if we walk, they'll spot us. You said that yourself."

"I'm going to die," Hogan muttered under his breath as he grabbed the reins. "Crittendon, there's something wrong with the saddle. It's missing that… that…thing that looks like a…you know."

"The horn?" Crittendon laughed. "That's from a western saddle. These are German jumping saddles. Kieffer, if I'm not mistaken."

"Great. Just great. One less thing to hold onto." Hogan placed his left foot into the stirrup, and then, as he had seen in westerns, lifted his body and attempted to swing his right leg over the side of the animal. "Oof!" The colonel fell, left leg still dangling in the stirrup. "My body's not made that way," he complained. The horse began shifting; causing the hapless colonel to be dragged along with it.

Crittendon, who had deftly mounted his beast, stared at Hogan with amusement. He moved his horse alongside Hogan's and calmed it down. "Try again, Hogan," he encouraged. "Get a bit more leverage, and you should be able to swing that leg over. Funny, I never had any problem with flexibility. Americans rely too much on cars, and not enough on their own two feet. Chop, chop. We haven't got all day."

Hogan glared at Crittendon; but the British officer was correct. They needed to get out of the area, and this was their transportation. The horse snorted as the colonel gamely made a second attempt. This time, he somehow managed to get his right leg up on the saddle, leaving it bent at a very uncomfortable angle. As the horse moved slightly, causing Hogan's pulse rate to increase rapidly, he gingerly slid his right leg over the horse's side. "I think I pulled a groin muscle," he griped as he scooted over a bit to center himself. As he did that, Hogan made the mistake of looking down. "Oh, dear God." He quickly looked straight ahead. "I didn't realize it was so high up."

Crittendon may not have been blessed with common sense; but he was blessed with superb hearing. "High up! Really. You can't be afraid of a little height. You're climbing ladders all the time. For goodness sake, man…you're a pilot. Obviously, you've had to jump out of planes, and do all those nasty things you have to do to join our ranks." Crittendon shook his head, and then gently pressed his boots against the horse's flesh. His mare took off on a slow walk.

"When you're in a plane, you're surrounded by metal. And when the plane is going up in flames, you don't think about heights," Hogan answered loudly as he copied Crittendon's movements. To his amazement, his horse walked forward. "And ladders aren't alive; swishing tails, snorting-you know what I'm talking about."

Crittendon turned his head. "No, I don't…horses are…" Crittendon stopped speaking. He had spotted the German staff car coming down the road. "Hogan, the troop convoy!"

Hogan forgot his fear and turned around. "We have to move. Now what?"

"Gallop," Crittendon stated. "Just do what I do." He bent down slightly, pressed his feet against his horse, and flicked the reins. Without warning, his horse took off on a full run.

"Wait, I haven't figured out how to steer this thing!" Hogan yelled. His horse, sensing its rider's fear, and not wanting to be left behind, followed. "Crittendon, what do I do?" Hogan was now hanging onto the mane for dear life, his derrière bouncing up and down with the movement. He tried to time the bouncing, but the horse was galloping too fast. _Oh, that's going to leave a mark_, he thought as he felt his body sliding back and forth. He had to admit he was too terrified to look behind to see where the staff car in front of the convoy was in relation to him and Crittendon. Finally, he noticed the trail leading into the woods that he and Crittendon had seen before the group captain "borrowed" the two animals from a paddock. Fortunately, the horses were already saddled up; their aristocratic owners nowhere in sight.

Crittendon looked behind him, and to his delight, noticed Hogan quickly catching up. "By jove, man. I think you've got the hang of it!"

"Yes, like you have the hang of escaping," Hogan yelled back. "Where are the Krauts?"

"We're losing them. Not to worry. They can only go so fast."

Hogan tried to clock the race in his head. He felt he was moving at about 25 miles per hour, but the convoy was forced to drive more slowly due to bomb damage. They were evading potholes, and sure enough, he figured there had to be daylight between him and the convoy. This thought calmed him down a bit; as the wind whipped his hair, and pollen made his eyes water and itch. He gingerly moved one hand to wipe the dust out of his left eye, but quickly put it back. _No way I'm letting go._

Crittendon's horse had turned and was heading into the area leading into the trail. Fortunately, Hogan's animal came with autopilot, and it just blindly followed the lead horse.

"Coming up to fence!" he heard Crittendon yell.

"Fence? Go around, Crittendon. Go around! That's an order!"

"Sorry, Hogan. I have seniority. You'll have to jump," Crittendon replied.

Hogan swore that Crittendon seemed totally delighted at the prospect of flying through the air without wings. The English group captain, who was so clumsy and inept in their previous meetings, now seemed to have no care in the world. Yards in front of him, Hogan watched as Crittendon's horse took the three-foot fence perfectly. The horse was long and flat, and Crittendon appeared to be one with the animal. Hogan was reminded of a ballet dancer performing a grande jete across the stage. Why that thought popped into his head was a mystery, as he now realized there was no turning back. He was going to have to jump the fence, or die trying. As his mare approached, Hogan shut his eyes tight, prayed and hung on for dear life. He felt the animal land on the other side, and miraculously, he managed to hang on and not fly off.

The horse slowed down, and trotted a few yards. Hogan found Crittendon, still astride his mount, waiting patiently for him to arrive.

"Well, I can't say much for your form, Hogan, but it did the trick."

Hogan waited for his trembling to subside. Breathing heavily, he spoke. "I think we lost the convoy. Now that we have cover, we should wait here to make sure they pass_." I'm going to personally get you demoted if I ever have to do this again._

Crittendon nodded in agreement. "You see, Hogan. I was right to take the horses. We certainly would have been spotted in that meadow. No place to hide at all. Not even flat."

Hogan was forced to agree. There were no trees or bushes to hide behind; the grass was short and charred from previous battles, and the stables were too far. Germans accompanying the convoy on foot would have spotted them within minutes. "You were right," he whispered.

"Sorry, old boy. I didn't catch what you said."

"You were right," Hogan repeated; this time a bit louder.

"That's the spirit."

"We should get the horses into the woods so the foot patrols don't hear them or spot them somehow." Hogan was about to ride into the woods, when Crittendon held up his hand.

"I'll take them in a bit farther and tie them up, while you take watch. Get off."

Hogan paled. Now that he had successfully mounted a horse, galloped and jumped a fence without breaking every bone in his body, he realized he had no idea how to get off. He had seen many westerns in his youth, as well as right before the war, but his mind hit a blank when he tried to recall how the actors had dismounted.

"You have to get down sometime, old boy. Come on. Chop, chop. We haven't all day!" Crittendon swiftly and nimbly got off his horse. "Just do the opposite of getting on." He shook his head in exasperation, then muttering something about Americans, movies, and not learning from history, he tied his horse's reins onto a tree then walked over to where Hogan was waiting.

"A horn would have made this easier," Hogan said as he slowly began swinging his right leg back over the saddle. Fortunately, this time, Crittendon was holding the horse's reins, stopping the animal from moving. Hogan was tall, and he somehow managed to keep his left leg in the stirrup while his right foot touched the ground. Any shorter, and he would have had to release his left leg and slide or jump down. "I don't know how short people manage this," he said. His foot was stuck. Holding on to the saddle with his right hand; he used his left to extract his left foot from the stirrup.

Crittendon didn't comment, although his eyes were twinkling with amusement. He was a kind enough soul to not get smug at seeing Hogan embarrassed or frightened. But, he definitely would have a story to tell once he returned home, and he was a bit satisfied that there was something he could do that Hogan could not.

Meanwhile, Hogan was about to fling himself down on the ground and watch the road in the far distance to see if the convoy and its patrol had safely passed. He couldn't wait to get back to camp, where he felt safe and in control. He took two steps and almost fell. "Owww." Hogan's body hurt in places that had never hurt before. His lower back throbbed from bouncing around on the hard saddle. His thigh and groin muscles burned, and his buttocks were numb. He dropped to the ground and put his pain out of his mind as he watched for the Germans. Thankfully, he spied the last of convoy passing by, and for the first time in a while, he felt safe; until he realized he had to stand up, which was easier said than done. He managed to push himself onto his hands and knees, and then sat back on his heels. Normally, he would have been able to bounce right up, but this time, he was forced to use the ground and his hands to stand.

"Hogan!"

The colonel jumped and whipped out his pistol. Seeing it was Crittendon who had snuck up behind him, he put it away. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry. Can we take the horses back with us? They would be quite useful, what? Suppose we rescue a wounded airman. Fling him over the saddle and off you go!" Crittendon waited for Hogan's response.

"No." Hogan didn't bother asking how Crittendon planned on hiding and feeding the horses. There was no point in ever trying to explain to Crittendon that his well-intentioned but insane plans were usually hopeless. The man never listened. "No," Hogan repeated. "Let them loose. Hopefully, they'll find their way home and not get slaughtered for food if someone sees them." Hogan immediately regretted his words, as he saw Crittendon turn pale. "I didn't mean that, Rodney. They'll be fine. The troops are gone. Besides, they've been well taken care of, and haven't been eaten yet." Hogan chided himself silently for putting his foot in his mouth, yet again.

"Right." Crittendon didn't argue, which made Hogan suspicious. But, the group captain did as Hogan ordered and turned the horses loose. He gave each a pat on the rump, and the animals took off. "I hope you're correct, Hogan. I can't bear the thought of them being turned into horsemeat for Nazis." He looked sadly at Hogan, and then began to walk.

"Wrong way. It's this way." Hogan pointed north.

Crittendon turned around and headed in the proper direction, and then stopped and waited for Hogan to catch up. He noticed that Hogan was in pain. "Do you want me to carry you? We can make better progress. I got a special award in the fireman carry at my first aid course, you know."

"I'm fine," Hogan said, thinking he would never live it down if he was carried back into camp on Crittendon's shoulders. He continued to walk-bow-legged and in pain-slowly back to the Stalag. By the time they approached the tree stump, it was dark, and the two crouched down in the brush in order to avoid the searchlights that had just been turned on. Hogan took a deep breath, and then when the time was right, opened up the stump and ordered Crittendon to climb down. After the next pass of lights, he had no other choice but to climb down as well, cringing at every move of his body.

"We had a bit of adventure," Hogan heard Crittendon gleefully tell the men waiting in the tunnel. "I dare say, Hogan is a bit hurt." The surprised and frightened reactions he expected to hear from his men, as they discovered Crittendon in their midst, never materialized. Once his men heard that Hogan was injured, their attention immediately turned towards their commanding officer.

"What happened? Was he shot?" LeBeau asked with a hint of panic in his voice.

Hogan then heard an unidentified prisoner say he was heading through the tunnel system to fetch Wilson, the camp's medic.

Within seconds, Kinch, Newkirk and Carter had appeared at the bottom of the ladder.

"We got you sir," Carter said. "Take it easy." Three pairs of strong hands easily lifted the colonel off the ladder before he could reach the ground.

"Put me down! Put me down! I'm fine!" Startled the three men dropped him and stood back. "I'm just a little sore, that's all. I don't need a medic."

LeBeau, who had been cleaning off a table, turned. His relief was obvious. "But, Colonel Crittendon said…"

"I don't care what he said, LeBeau. The mission was successful, but we ran into a convoy on the way back and had to make a run for it. Oh, and I guess I don't have to explain that I picked up a stray group captain. Seems he got captured, again. And escaped again. How many is this, Crittendon?"

"I dare say, I've lost count!"

Hogan began walking over to the radio, all the men in the tunnel staring at his gait.

"Colonel, did you perhaps make a run for it by riding some horses?" Carter turned and spoke to his bunkmates. "I've been around horses long enough to see the after effects on an inexperienced rider. I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to say you didn't know how to ride, but it sure looks as though you had a bit of a rough time there. But then again, that's impossible. Where would you find horses for hire? Unless you stole them. Like cattle rustlers, except for horses. They're not up top are they?"

"Carter, my boy." Crittendon gave the eager sergeant a friendly pat on the back. "You are correct. Except, I'm sorry to disappoint you. We only borrowed them. I gave them a slap, and off they went. Hopefully back to the paddock from whence they came."

"Whence they came?" Kinch stifled a giggle; then went over to the radio to call London. He saw Wilson heading in his direction and waved him over. "He's okay, Wilson. False alarm."

"You sure?" Wilson asked as he gazed at the colonel's posture. He was used to Hogan's slouching, but seeing him standing a bit bow-legged was a new experience. The medic grinned in relief. "How about some aspirin, Colonel. You look a bit sore."

Hogan absent-mindedly rubbed his lower back and garnered more stares as he headed for the radio. He gratefully accepted the aspirin Wilson placed in his hand, and dry-swallowed. "Thanks, Wilson. Kinch, let them know the package was delivered and that we need to arrange a sub pick-up. Carter, the only horse I've ever been on before today was on a merry-go-round. I've never ridden before in my life. We didn't make a run for it. I guess you could say we made a gallop for it." Hogan grinned at his own wit. Now that he was back safe and sound, he could laugh about his experience…until he tried to sit down.

_The End_

_A/N If Crittendon is in the RAF, he should be a Group Captain. Sgt. Moffitt's "The Crittendon Chronicles," explores this time and time again, with expert humor. However, I think some of the boys would continue to call him colonel. Maybe they go back and forth! _

_I was always "amused" by the use of horses in modern American tv shows and movies. Everyone automatically hops on and gallops off, which is totally unrealistic. In "Back to the Future, part 3, Marty somehow knows how to mount and ride with no problem. This is a suburban Californian from a lower middle class family. LOL. I doubt that he had ever been on anything more than a horse walking at a petting zoo. _

_Yes, I rode. Unfortunately, at age 14, I was thrown off when my horse was spooked by a bee. I ended up with a compression fracture of a vertabrae (T-12), which sort of ended my riding career. Unlike Hogan, I never learned to jump and gallop, although I did get back on a horse a year later. I'm sure this old break contributed to my current back problems. Sigh._


End file.
